


there's blood on the crown

by sinjoong (undeliveredtruth)



Series: atz requests & randoms [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mafia Hongjoong, Nurse Seonghwa, Physical and mental, Seonghwa cleans up Hongjoong's wounds, This is the most on-brand thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22671928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeliveredtruth/pseuds/sinjoong
Summary: It would be unfair to say Hongjoong looks like a child now because he doesn’t, the forgotten gun in his holster on show, his hands and his left side all bloody and dirty. He doesn’t, and yet the look in his wide, open eyes, says that he’s trusting Seonghwa with all of himself right now, that he needs to be taken care of like only Seonghwa knows how to.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Series: atz requests & randoms [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1702567
Comments: 26
Kudos: 238





	there's blood on the crown

Hongjoong walks into the apartment, and his head is _bleeding._

_He’s bleeding._

Seonghwa immediately springs up from the couch, legs not quick enough to get him there, to grab at Hongjoong’s hips, his hand, help him out of his shoes. He doesn’t look wobbly nor dizzy, which is a good sign, and his grip on Seonghwa’s hand is not for support, but for comfort. 

Seonghwa seats him on the couch anyway, kneels down in front of him to really look at him, trace the blood up. It’s at his temple, an open wound. 

“Hongjoong-ah,” he exclaims as he looks at it, Hongjoong’s dirty blonde hair mottled with blood. It looks serious, so he hesitates to touch. “Hongjoong-ah, this is bad. We should go to the hospital.” 

“No. Please, just… I’m fine. Just do what you can,” Hongjoong’s voice sounds low, small. “I’m fine. I don’t have a concussion or anything.”

Seonghwa hesitates for just two more seconds, debating if it’s worth pushing. If Hongjoong would give and would let Seonghwa sneak him into the hospital where he has his actual tools and proper _medicine_ for this. How did Hongjoong even get home? 

But in the end, Seonghwa realizes that he’d put him more at risk if they went, and he’d never forgive himself if anything happened. 

So he gets up, goes to find the first aid kit he keeps at home for when Hongjoong inevitably comes home bruised and bleeding way more often than he should. They’d promised they’d protect him, but they’re not doing anything like that. 

A shiver passes through Seonghwa at the thought that Hongjoong might... someday, he might not... 

But tonight he did. Seonghwa kneels on the floor and pulls Hongjoong down to sit next to him, his back resting on the couch, and lays the first aid kit on the coffee table. 

It’s going to need stitches. Seonghwa goes to wash his hands in the kitchen first, puts on latex gloves. When he comes back, Hongjoong is looking up at him. 

It would be unfair to say Hongjoong looks like a child now because he doesn’t, the forgotten gun in his holster on show, his hands and his left side all bloody and dirty. He doesn’t, and yet the look in his wide, open eyes, says that he’s trusting Seonghwa with all of himself right now, that he needs to be taken care of like only Seonghwa knows how to. 

Anger rises, and Seonghwa closes his eyes for just a second. He’s a nurse, and someone is hurt. That’s the priority right now. 

He kneels down at Hongjoong’s side again, taking out the cleaning solution and clean gauze. It shouldn’t hurt, but Hongjoong’s bloody hand grips Seonghwa’s thigh anyway, dirtying his checkered pajama pants. Carefully, he cleans around the wound with the solution, takes Hongjoong’s dirty hair away from the wound and carefully secures it with a hairpin. 

Hongjoong laughs. 

“Thank you for making me look stylish.” 

Seonghwa doesn’t smile, too focused on not touching the wound too much. Hongjoong’s smile doesn’t fade, but his grip on Seonghwa’s thigh tightens. 

“You should see the other guys.” 

Seonghwa almost can. They’re probably dead, their bodies—

He calms down. He doesn’t need those thoughts right now. 

When he’s satisfied enough, he pulls out the suturing kit. Hongjoong knows to keep his mouth shut when that happens. Seonghwa sterilizes the needle and the needle driver, wipes the tissue forceps down and holds the wound open. 

It’s just that: the wound, the forceps holding it, the curved needle going through the skin once, coming out on the other side. Hongjoong doesn’t make a sound; Seonghwa would have his _head_ if he moved a millimeter right now. The thread comes out, Seonghwa wraps it twice around the needle holder, grips the needle on the other side and pulls. The knot comes out nice and tight; another one, and another one the other way around holds the first suture tight. He cuts the excess.

Hongjoong breathes a little harder. 

“Don’t move,” Seonghwa preemptively warns, moves a quarter of an inch down and does it again. Needle driver, needle goes in and comes out on the other side. One, two, three knots, he cuts the thread again and moves down. 

Hongjoong needs 7 stitches.

Seonghwa puts down the needle holder and breathes for the first time in what feels like hours. 

The ointment comes out. “What happened?” He asks, plain and simple. 

“We were ambushed. There were too many of them but it was dark so they didn’t shoot, but one of them came from the back and hit me with the back of his gun.”

“Are they all…?”

“They’re dead.” 

Seonghwa nods, carefully applying ointment around the wound. The bandage lays flat on Hongjoong’s temple, secured by tape, and only then Hongjoong’s grip on his thigh loosens and lets go. 

“My _baby,”_ the hand reaches to cup Seonghwa’s cheek, bloody and rough. Seonghwa relaxes in the touch, closes his eyes and leans his head in Hongjoong’s palm. Now that Hongjoong’s wound is cleaned and bandaged, he allows the buried anxiety in his chest to surface and quicken his heartbeat. “Baby, I’m _so_ sorry. I promise I’ll be more careful.” 

Seonghwa’s lips touch Hongjoong’s. He tastes like stale blood and metal, and Seonghwa licks into his mouth like he’ll be able to take it all into himself instead. Hongjoong lets him, strokes his hand through the hair at the back of Seonghwa’s head, encouraging and patient. But he’s the one to whine when they separate, his lips red and swollen. 

Hongjoong always looks wrecked from the smallest of things Seonghwa does to him. 

“Shower first,” Seonghwa declares, and pulls Hongjoong up carefully, slowly. He won’t know the extent of Hongjoong’s head trauma for a while at least; he doesn’t look like he has a concussion though, so Seonghwa counts his blessings. 

He attaches a waterproof cover on top of Hongjoong’s bandage and helps peel off the dirty clothes from his body. He’ll need to soak them for a bit tomorrow, and so they go in the special laundry hamper. He takes off his own dirtied pajamas and throws them in the same one, and lets Hongjoong pull him in the steaming shower. 

Carefully, he takes out the pin from Hongjoong’s hair and wets it with the showerhead, careful to avoid as much of the wound as he can. Hongjoong helps him hold the showerhead up so Seonghwa can lather the shampoo in his hair, careful and efficient. The water at their feet turns slightly pink and washes down the drain until Seonghwa looks down and it’s transparent again.

When he’s done, Hongjoong turns around and crowds him against the shower wall instead. Quick hands make work of Seonghwa’s cock until he’s hard and panting in Hongjoong’s mouth, a hand around Hongjoong's back to hold him up. 

Hongjoong drops to his knees. Seonghwa immediately argues with a pointed glance down at him. He’s hurt; Seonghwa would never do that to him.

“Just come on my face,” Hongjoong volunteers instead, puts both of his small hands on Seonghwa’s cock and tugs at him just how he knows Seonghwa likes it, tight and drawn out. Somehow, Hongjoong avoids the spray of water on his bandage, and when Seonghwa sees it he lets go, grabs at Hongjoong’s shoulder to steady himself.

And he does. He paints Hongjoong’s face white, keeps his eyes fixed on how his come lands on Hongjoong’s nose, his chin, his outstretched tongue, and he swallows it all. Seonghwa thumbs at the corner of his lip and Hongjoong sucks it in his mouth, eyes half-lidded, like he can’t get enough of the way Seonghwa tastes. 

Seonghwa pulls him up, turns him around so his ass nestles on Seonghwa’s crotch and Seonghwa can hold his cock in his palm, slowly tug. Hongjoong drops his head back on Seonghwa’s shoulders with a sigh, the water washing away the traces of come from his face. Two seconds and he stops Seonghwa’s hand with a hand around his wrist. 

“Wanna wait. Want you inside me.” 

Seonghwa obeys. He lathers up the bath sponge instead and gets to washing the rest of Hongjoong’s body. Hongjoong waits, patient, even though he’s rock hard. Hongjoong is like that; he knows how to work towards a goal, especially if he knows it’ll bring him even more satisfaction in the end.

Seonghwa cleans him up, well and thorough, and by the end, when he dries them up and wraps the fluffy towel around him and then himself and leads Hongjoong towards the bedroom, the desire is back in Hongjoong's eyes. 

Hongjoong lies on the bed like he knows Seonghwa can't wait to get his hands on him. Carefully, he kneels on the bed between Hongjoong's spread legs, the lube they keep on their nightstand in easy access. 

So many days of their life they've spent together later, Seonghwa knows his way around Hongjoong's body. Knows that if he holds the bend of Hongjoong's knee in his elbow, the angle is the best for him. He's careful to make sure Hongjoong's head is laid on a pillow before he slicks up his fingers and carefully slides his middle one inside of him. 

Hongjoong always tenses when Seonghwa starts; if the sensation wasn't foreign it wouldn't be pleasurable, Hongjoong always tells him. If it didn't hurt just a little, if it didn't take him by surprise, then there would be no point to it; something that feels new every time makes you feel like it is the first time even when it's not. 

He's small and that makes him easy to maneuver, easy to handle for Seonghwa, whose unused hand wrapped around him looks like it envelops half his waist and easily holds him down so he doesn't push himself too far. Carefully, he slides his finger out and pushes it slowly back in, feels how eventually, Hongjoong relaxes to accommodate him, widen his legs to take him deeper. 

Hongjoong's hard cock lays against his stomach, and Seonghwa presses the palm of his hand on it, slowly rubbing up and down. He's slow, really slow, because that's what builds Hongjoong up, that's what he's learned Hongjoong needs. It feels like hours before he adds his index finger to his middle one and slides them both inside Hongjoong, as slow and dragged out, and he pulls his other hand back. 

Hongjoong has fully let go, arms spread wide and hands gripping the sheets, closed eyes in bliss and his hair wetting the pillow. Seonghwa thinks Hongjoong looks most beautiful like this, when he doesn't have to please and Seonghwa can slowly work him open for hours, revere in the sight of his body and his arched back aimed to drag the pleasure licking flames under his skin.

Hongjoong's sinful lips fall open, and Seonghwa wants to kiss him. Wants to feel him under him, so he does just that. Hongjoong welcomes him, opens his mouth wide for him and moans when Seonghwa moves to rake his teeth over his jaw, down his neck. There's a demon in him, something ugly and possessive that feeds on how Hongjoong opens up so easily for him, body and soul. 

The red marks contrast with how gently Seonghwa curls his fingers up, up with slow motions, punching little breaths out of Hongjoong's throat. His eyes remain steadfastly closed, like he's processing the pleasure in his mind and wants to focus only on that; Seonghwa gives and rubs over the spot to fuel what Hongjoong needs. 

He could do this for hours. He has and maybe he is now, the passage of time nothing with Hongjoong so sweetly mewling out his pleasure, the sight of him taking Seonghwa's fingers so easily drawing a hole in Seonghwa's chest. He's so easy to please, gives out these moans and scrunches of his eyebrows and bites at his lip so easily, so caught up in this simple pleasure, that Seonghwa knows he doesn't need more. 

Hongjoong's small hand wraps around Seonghwa's wrist when he tenses up to come, to _feel_ how Seonghwa moves his fingers inside of him. There's a side of Hongjoong that likes to see himself wrecked, likes to feel exactly where Seonghwa is taking him apart and how, spread himself open to make it easier for Seonghwa to get deeper, so Hongjoong can chase his high and drop when he's there. 

Untouched, he paints his stomach white, arching his back until Seonghwa slips out, and Hongjoong pulls him back in, prolonging his orgasm until it's too much, definitely too much. 

Hongjoong likes too much, because that means he can let go and show Seonghwa the tears in his eyes like he's proud of Seonghwa for putting him there. Seonghwa, ever the fool, kisses them away and is glad that he's the only one to bring them to his eyes. 

He dutifully cleans Hongjoong up and dresses him in his own pajama pants, too large and long on Hongjoong. And then he cuddles Hongjoong in his arms, closes his eyes, and lets his breathing slow so he can pretend to fall asleep.

Two hours later, Hongjoong is sleeping. Seonghwa takes out his arm from under him and grabs the phone from the bottom drawer to go to the bathroom. Sitting on the closed toilet seat, he opens his texts and writes the number he knows from memory. 

_'You promised.'_

The reply comes seconds after. 

_'He might be your whore, but he's my underling first. It would do you good to remember that.'_

Seonghwa's fingers quickly type on the small keyboard, trying not to burst with anger. 

_'Protect him. Or I'll start talking.'_

The three bubbles appear, steadfast and unhesitant. 

_'Watch your mouth.'_ Simple, easy, before they start again. _'I wonder what would hurt him more: seeing your dead body or finding out you're the son of the people who own him and his family?'_

Seonghwa grits his teeth. The typing bubbles appear again, like this is a conversation with a friend, not the person he hates most in life. 

_'Behave. Don't make me regret I allowed you too much.'_

He closes the messaging app, turns off the phone. A look in the mirror and he splashes water on his face; reflected in his eyes are those of someone he doesn't want to be. 

His black roots are growing out. He'll have to bleach his hair again.

The light of the phone illuminates Hongjoong's face; the three last texts appear like they're on his own phone, and then they stop. The water faucet turns on; Hongjoong closes the app, locks his phone, and puts it back on the nightstand, screen down. 

Seonghwa pads back in, and Hongjoong mumbles something unintelligible, makes room for him to get back in bed like he was asleep all this time. Seonghwa gets in, puts the covers back up, and Hongjoong lays on his chest, draping an arm around his waist. 


End file.
